


Air Support

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsheplets, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes without you trying to get yourself killed?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Air Support

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "mcsheplets" prompt #038 "together apart"

Sometimes, it seemed to John that he had been in Atlantis so long that the dust and heat of the desert and the whir of helicopter blades had been another lifetime, but apparently his Air Force records had a better memory than he did.

It would only be one mission, General O’Neill had promised. Part of the price for keeping the Stargate Program classified was that they weren’t always able to explain why certain people were so vital in their current positions that they couldn’t be even temporarily reassigned— like John and his ATA gene. But some general named Bujold had a very sensitive mission going on someplace in Afghanistan. He wanted the very best helicopter pilot still on active duty, black marks and classified assignments or not, and according to his file, that was John.

He felt strange being in desert fatigues again, even stranger to hear Earthside Marines call him ‘sir’, but the controls of the Blackhawk were exactly like he remembered, and once he was up in the air, he could forget everything but the mission.

He really should have known it would all go to hell.

“Base, this is Sheppard,” he shouted into his radio. “Our position has been compromised. I’m taking fire. Repeat, taking fire.”

“ _This is Base. Hold position, colonel_ ,” said a distant, unidentifiable voice. “ _Friendly targets may still be inside. Double-checking intel. Repeat, hold position and stand by._ ”

“Well, could you maybe check a little faster?” An alarm blared, and John snapped the controls to the right, narrowly avoiding a smoke-trailing something that went speeding past. “And why didn’t we know these guys had rocket launchers?”

“ _Hold position, colonel_ ,” the Base officer repeated. 

Behind the voice, John could hear other people talking and calling orders, the hum of old-fashioned human-made equipment. He was only half-listening to them, useless noise almost lost in the wash of the chopper blades, until a familiar voice said, “ _Does your government actually pay you to be this stupid? How long can it possibly take to send and receive a message within the same time zone? Because as I recall, humans discovered instantaneous radio communication over a century ago._ ”

There was some clicking and shuffling, audio equipment changing hands. Then, more clearly, “ _Sheppard, can you hear me?_ ”

“Well, I don’t know, McKay,” John drawled, grinning, even as he had to bank his helicopter again. “Maybe you could speak up.”

“ _Yes, very amusing_ ,” Rodney said, dryly. “ _Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes without you trying to get yourself killed?_ ”

“I have everything under control,” said John. The hostiles only had a small building— he was sure they’d run out of ammunition soon.

“ _Of course you do, colonel_ ,” said Rodney. “ _Now, shut up for a second._ ”

The gages on John’s console flickered once, then again. “McKay, are you hacking my helicopter?”

“ _Did I not just tell you to shut up? This is really very delicate work. And, yes._ ”

For a split-second, every one of John’s readouts went dark, but when they sprang back to life again, they were arranged like a puddle jumper’s display, showing more data than the chopper should have been able to.

“Rodney—”

“ _You’re welcome. The unit you’re looking for— or is it a platoon? They’re Marines, right, and how many does it take to make a platoon, anyway? Whatever, the approved military collective noun for a bunch of captured Marines, they’re about two kilometers west of your position. I’m sending you the coordinates._ ”

“Rodney, how…?” John asked, even as he angled his chopper toward the coordinates that popped up on one screen. 

“ _Admittedly, with a little help from Sam and the_ General _. She had a few minutes before she, um, ‘left town’. She says ‘hi’, by the way._ ”

John grinned.

He’d be getting hell for this later, he knew, equal parts outrage that he’d left without telling Rodney and outrage that Rodney had to come and save his sorry ass, _again_ , all hiding the worry that neither of them could really talk about.

But whatever Rodney had in store for him would be more than worth it. Because now John knew that anywhere in two galaxies, Rodney would be there when John needed him.

THE END


End file.
